


Perfect Date

by Essea Aen Carn (Trotzkopf)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Dating, Kissing, M/M, Overprotective Dads, Spying, scheming Emhyr, toussaint loves geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Essea%20Aen%20Carn
Summary: Written as response for a tumblr request for Emhyr's and Geralt's idea of a perfect date





	Perfect Date

“Try the grey stuff, it’s delicious,” Emhyr remarked, casually taking a sip of his Est Est. 

“Hn-hm,” Geralt grunted, not really listening to him, all his senses focussed on the couple seated at a table on the other side of the large terrace, the view partially obscured by a topiary. “She’s giggling! I haven’t heard Ciri giggle since she was twelve when Lambert got so drunk he tried to woe me.”

Emhyr peeked over the rim of his fashionable sunglasses which Geralt had acquired at an auction in Oxenfurt and insisted Emhry should wear as well as B.B.’s old, charcoal overcoat. “Woe you? I never thought I’d feel pity for a witcher.”

“I survived.”

“I meant Lambert,” Emhyr said dryly and smirked when Geralt’s head whipped around.

“You look ridiculous,” Geralt snapped. 

“It was your idea. Must you always be so churlish?” Emhyr sighed. 

“Yes! Or maybe you just bring that out in me. Wait— _what_?”

Emhyr leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“They’re leaving. Going for a _stroll_. Ugh, I hate that guy.”

Emhyr wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “If he gets his way, that guy is the future emperor of Nilfgaard. That is if Cirilla agrees to sign away her birthright as he proposed.”

“She doesn’t want the crown,” Geralt pointed out. 

“I’m aware,” Emhyr replied testily. “And if she’d been upfront instead of sending you to tell me that ridiculous lie, we wouldn’t have to be here like a pair of common trackers to make sure he doesn’t take a short-cut and slits her throat in a dark alley.”

Geralt got up and craned his neck. “Like he could! What kind of a person names their kid Morvran? Sounds like something someone would pay me to kill because it has infested their basement.” 

“Geweldige zon, geef me kracht!” Emhyr mumbled under his breath and added much louder, “Let’s go!”

Beauclair was bustling with activity. People were thronging the streets, helping them to blend into the crowd. Or as much as Geralt could blend in. Everyone in Toussaint knew and loved him. One or two women smiled flirtatiously, but stopped when Emhyr pulled his sunglasses down to scowl at them until they remembered they had to be elsewhere in a hurry.

“Interesting,” Emhyr said after a while. 

“What is — careful, step back!” Geralt pushed Emhyr into a side alley, shielding him with his body. They were so close they were breathing the same air. Geralt’s hands were on either side of Emhyr’s head. Eyes closed, he was concentrating on what was going on at the other end of the street. “They stopped and looked our way. Damn, too many people, I can’t make them out in this noise.” 

When he opened his eyes, Emhyr was right there, Geralt’s breath fogging his sunglasses. He leaned forward, Emhyr tilted his head a fraction, shoulders heaving. They moved at the same time, just a tentative brushing of lips. 

“I—”

“Shut up, witcher!” Emhyr kissed him with all the willpower and possessiveness of a man who had conquered half the known world, pulling Geralt closer until he groaned into the kiss.

“Is there a particular reason you’re following us?” Ciri asked from the mouth of the alley. 

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He took a hasty step back. Emhyr wiped his lips and plugged the glasses from his nose. 

“Geralt was just showing me the damage repairs from the vampire insurrection and where improvements have been made since. Quite frankly, we had no idea you were in the immediate vicinity.”

“Uh-hn. Pull the other one, it has bells on,” Ciri retorted. Morvran appeared behind her shoulder, smirking. 

“Cirilla, what would you say to a race back to the estate? It seems your father, pardon me, _fathers_ are rather busy right now.”

Geralt’s hand balled into a fist out of its own accord, his shoulder moved, but Emhyr stepped smartly in front of him. “By all means, we’ll be awhile. I believe we left the documents at Corvo Bianco anyway.” 

“A horse race? You’re on, but don’t think I’ll go easy on you this time,” Ciri smiled sweetly at Morvran whose face split into a huge grin.

“My dear witcher,” he addressed her by her chosen profession which she clearly enjoyed, “don’t count your florens before you’ve earned them.”

“Are you flirting with me again?” Ciri put her hands on her hips, but her eyes sparkled. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Emhyr stepped passed them, they didn’t even spare him a glance until he stopped and raised his eyebrows in a _“I’m in disguise today, but I am still the emperor”_ way. 

Morvran seemed to remember himself just in time and bowed. “With your permission, your imperial majesty.” 

A few people walking by cast inquisitive glances at the scene. Geralt joined them and smiled at the onlookers, “Just rehearsing for a play.” 

His group gave him puzzled looks, but the gawkers tittered excitedly before they hurried on. 

“We’re off,” Ciri announced, pulling a very willing Morvran with her. Geralt and Emhyr watched them go down the street until they were out of sight. 

“She’ll be fine,” Emhyr said flatly, putting his sunglasses back on. “We should give them some space.”

“Some space— are you _mad_? What happened to making sure he doesn’t murder her? Did you not see how he looks at Ciri?” Geralt asked as he walked alongside Emhyr in the opposite direction. 

“Oh yes,” the emperor smirked, “yes, I have. A most fascinating development. There’s hope yet.”

“Hope? For whom? Ahhhh.” Geralt stopped in his tracks. “I get it now. So, was this the plan all along or—”

Emhyr turned and walked back right into Geralt’s personal space. “No, but I — what is the vernacular? Roll with the punches. Speaking off, isn’t there an abandoned estate that belonged to a vampire around here?”

Geralt’s eyes were drawn to Emhyr’s lips. “It’s right over there. Why?”

“Nice place?”

“Uh-hn.”

“Do you think the bedroom is in good condition?” 

Geralt bit his lower lip. “Only one way to find out.” 


End file.
